Do As I Say
by FlyingPiglet
Summary: In the beginning, McGee saw DiNozzo as the kind of agent he wanted to be some day. Four years later, DiNozzo's still treating him like a probie, and McGee's tired of feeling second best. But when he finds himself in trouble and his team is nowhere around, Tim will need to use everything Tony's taught him to save himself. Set in early Season 5, spoilers thru 5x1 'Bury Your Dead'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This story takes place not long after 'Bury Your Dead', when McGee is still a little green, DiNozzo is feeling a little lost, and there is a lot of tension between them. General spoilers through S5Ep1._

_My undying gratitude to Leydhawk who read, encouraged, discussed, suggested, coaxed, and generally made sure I didn't give up before this story was finished. You make writing so much fun, my friend!_

* * *

**Do As I Say**

Chapter 1

"I've got nothing." McGee spoke quietly into the microphone tucked just inside the collar of his shirt. A second later a voice crackled back to him through his earwig.

"All quiet on the western front."

McGee groaned. "You're that desperate for a movie reference, DiNozzo? You do realize you're covering the _north_ side of the park, right?"

"Well, I've worked my way to the northwest corner. I guess you could say I'm moving North by Northwest. Hey, that does work better, doesn't it? Thanks, Probie."

"Don't mention it. Please."

A couple of minutes of silence, then DiNozzo's voice came through again. "Let's wrap it up. This is our third sweep, and if we keep wandering around aimlessly we're going to attract attention. Meet me back at the coffee cart. We'll people-watch for awhile, and Bravo Team can make another full sweep when they come on."

"Copy that," McGee murmured. He turned toward the south entrance, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun as he strolled toward the kiosk. The stakeout had been a long shot anyway. They had no idea how the killer chose his victims, just that they had all been taken from this park, one man each month for the last five months. All had been tortured before they were killed, their bodies dumped in alleyways within a three block radius of the park.

The most recent victim had been a Petty Officer which was how NCIS had become involved. They were officially working on a joint task force with Metro PD, but unofficially Gibbs was calling the shots. That hadn't been hard to arrange since NCIS had made most of the breakthroughs in the case so far. All the victims had been eviscerated with a sharp, thin knife, but it was Ducky's autopsy of the sailor that had given them the unusual dimensions and shape of the blade. His precise description had allowed Abby to identify the particular type of filleting knife that had been used, and they were still combing records of recent purchases, hoping to find some kind of connection to one or all of the victims. Tony had noticed that the body drop sites formed a vague circle with the park at the center, and McGee had used security cameras in the area to confirm that each of the victims had entered the park the night they were killed, though they still hadn't found any footage that showed the men leaving with anyone.

Beyond the fact that all the victims were male and seemed to favor walking in this particular park at night, there were no other common factors they could find. The men's ages and physical characteristics varied. One was an executive, three were skilled laborers, one was a sailor. One was married, one was in a same sex relationship, one was divorced, two were single. Their paths didn't seem to cross in their day-to-day lives. They hadn't attended the same schools, didn't belong to the same clubs, didn't eat dinner in the same places, didn't share any shady pastimes that might bring them to the attention of a murderer. The only thing they seemed to have in common was the way they'd died.

That left the park as the main focus for the investigation. All the victims had been taken from here, somehow, on the third of the month. Today was the second, and if they didn't figure something out soon they were going to find another body in just over thirty-six hours. They were walking the park in rotating teams of two, trying to spot someone hanging around who might be scoping out potential victims. Unfortunately the only people who seemed to be loitering in the park were the surveillance teams.

McGee arrived at the coffee cart before DiNozzo, and he ordered them each a large coffee. If they were going to spend another half hour watching the park entrance, they'd need the cover, not to mention the caffeine. He'd just paid the barista when he heard a vaguely familiar voice at his elbow.

"Tim McGee?"

McGee turned to find a well-dressed young man peering at him uncertainly. His mind was still running through variables about their victims, and it took him a moment to snap back into focus. He smiled sheepishly as he recognized his upstairs neighbor. "Oh, hey, Ken."

The young man smiled back. "I wasn't sure it was you. You're a ways from home, aren't you?"

"You live one floor above me, Ken," McGee grinned. "I could say the same about you."

"Not really. I work close by. Max's coffee is better than the vending machine crap I can get at the office. As you've discovered, I see," he said, pointing at the two cups McGee held. "Must be a rough day if you've taken to two-fisted drinking."

"No," McGee laughed, "the second coffee is for a friend who's – "

"Running just a little bit late," DiNozzo interrupted, coming up from behind and helping himself to one of the cups. He took a healthy sip and sighed appreciatively. "Thanks, Tim."

McGee started to make introductions. "Ken, this is my partner, Tony. We—"

Before he could say anything else, DiNozzo wrapped an arm around McGee's waist from behind. "His very possessive partner," he said with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows.

Ken stiffened, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men before his face shuttered. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment even as he stepped away. "I'd better be getting back," he said, turning on his heel and moving quickly toward the park entrance, leaving McGee staring at his retreating back.

DiNozzo headed for a nearby bench, leaning back and sipping his coffee while he glanced casually around him. McGee joined him, trying to contain his irritation.

"Why did you do that? It's not bad enough that you tell everyone at the office I'm gay, you have to drag your practical jokes into my personal life, too?"

"Keep your voice down and your eyes peeled, McGee," DiNozzo said quietly. "We're here to do a job, remember? You were on the verge of outing us. I just stepped in to cover for you, that's all."

"_I_ was going to out us?" McGee seethed. "You're the one who gave Ken the impression we're gay."

"You almost outed us as _cops_, McGreenhorn. You told the guy I was your partner. That has two connotations — cop partner or life partner. I made sure he focused on life partner before you gave us away."

McGee huffed out an irritated breath. "Tony, he's my neighbor. He already knows I'm a cop."

"Yeah?" DiNozzo shot back. "And what about the guy running the coffee cart, the maintenance man picking up trash, the kid tightening his skateboard wheels, or the ten other people within hearing distance of our conversation? They all know you're a cop, too? First rule of undercover work, Probie—you never break cover."

McGee rolled his eyes. "Yeah, except that we're not undercover. We're just doing a simple surveillance gig."

DiNozzo rolled his eyes right back. "Yeah, and there's a reason we're doing it with our badges tucked in our back pockets instead of clipped to our belts. We're out here looking for a serial killer who may be targeting his next victim, McGee. You really think our psycho is going to hang around if he catches two cops checking out the place? This park is the only connection we've found between the victims—we can't afford to spook our guy and have him move somewhere else." DiNozzo patted him on the shoulder. "Let it go, Probie. You slipped, I covered. Not a big deal."

McGee, unwilling to just give in, said, "Not a big deal for you, maybe. You're not the one whose upstairs neighbor now thinks you're gay."

DiNozzo shot him a scathing look. "Well, gee, Timmy, you're right. Your homophobic neighbor's opinion of you is _so_ much more important than, I don't know, catching a _serial killer_. What was I thinking? You'd better run after him and clear up this little misunderstanding. Better do it quick, too, before he—_gasp_—tells someone else! Wouldn't want anyone in the building thinking the wrong kinds of things about you, would we?"

McGee shifted uncomfortably. How was it that DiNozzo always managed to make him feel wrong-footed, even when Tim was pretty sure he was in the right? He was caught between irritated and apologetic, but when Tony patted his shoulder again and said, "It's OK, Probie, you'll learn," irritation won out.

"Damn it, DiNozzo," he snapped, "why do you always have to be so condescending? I'm not a kid fresh out of FLETC anymore. I've been on Gibbs' team for nearly four years now. That's longer than anyone else has lasted except you and Agent Burley. If I was really the clueless probie you make me out to be, don't you think Gibbs would have canned me by now? The fact that I'm still here _proves_ I'm as good as you are, so why don't you back the hell off?"

DiNozzo sighed, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It always came down to this. In every police department he'd worked, the good ones always had something to prove. Hell, it wasn't just law enforcement. He'd seen the same thing in college. McGee was like every fresh-faced kid who'd ever stepped onto the OSU gridiron for the first time. At first they were happy to learn, did what they were told, grateful just to be part of the team. But it never took those wide-eyed kids long to start checking out the competition, seeing who they had to beat to move up the ranks. Every third-stringer wanted to make second string, and every second-stringer wanted to start.

McGee had been so eager to learn at first, drinking in every bit of information, every suggestion, every interaction like it was life's blood. When the kid had become SFA during Gibbs' retirement, he'd been excited, ready to show what he could do. But then Gibbs had un-retired, the first-string SFA had taken his job back, and McGee had been benched again. And everyone knew Tony wasn't going anywhere, so if McGee stayed on the team, he wasn't going to get any more playing time anytime soon. The kid was frustrated, thought he knew it all now, and wasn't listening anymore.

DiNozzo sighed. Maybe he should let it go. McGee was good enough to get by. He could learn everything else the hard way, just like the rest of them had. He wasn't a probationary agent anymore, technically it was no longer Tony's responsibility to train him….

An image flashed in front of Tony's eyes and pulled him up short. No. He'd been down that road before. He wasn't going there again. His hand ghosted across his cheek, brushing away the memories and locking them back into the box where he kept them buried in the darkest part of his mind. Never again.

"It's not a competition, McGee," he said tiredly as his eyes continued to scan the scene around them. "Are you as valuable to the team as I am? Yes. More so, actually. Hell, I'm just a cop. Gibbs could get ten more just like me any day of the week. But you…you're a certified genius, one of a kind. You know – we _all_ know – that we couldn't do what we do without you."

McGee looked at the other man sharply, but he didn't detect any sign of teasing or insincerity. For the first time he wondered if Tony really did see himself that way, as ordinary. Expendable. "Tony – "

"But you're not as good as I am, and you never will be." DiNozzo held up his hand to forestall the sharp words he knew were coming. "You learn how to be a federal agent at FLETC, but you learn how to do the _job_ on the streets. Every single mistake you make is something you learn never to do again, and then you go out the next day and you make another mistake, and you learn from that one, too. I've got nearly ten years more experience at this than you do, McGee. That's a hell of a lot of mistakes I've made and learned from, and I try to pass what I know on to you. Gibbs has fifteen years on me, and I learn something from him every damn day. And Mike Franks taught Gibbs, and somebody taught Franks. Someday you'll be a Senior Field Agent, and you'll teach probies of your own. And no matter how good your probies are, you will always know more than they do because you will have the experience they don't. That's how it works."

"Tony, I – "

"Maybe my methods aren't the best, Tim. Maybe…maybe I am a little jealous of all the things you can do that I will never understand, and so maybe when I know something you don't, I lord it over you. But don't discount the lesson just because you don't like the way it's taught. It's my job to keep you safe, to teach you what I know, and if you can learn from the mistakes I've already made, then maybe those are mistakes you won't have to make for yourself. And maybe some of the things that have damn near killed me over the years won't happen to you. So no, I'm not going to lighten up, and I'm not going to back the hell off. I did that once, decided it wasn't worth the tension and the fractured friendship, and that's a mistake I will not ever make again, no matter what. I really don't give a damn if you hate me for it, McGee, I'm not going to let you be another Kate."

"Tony!" Tim gasped, startled by the vehemence in the other man's voice. Did he really think he could have somehow saved Kate if he'd done his job differently? Before Tim could argue against that idea, Tony stood.

"Bravo Team just entered the park. Time to clock out." In the second or two it took DiNozzo to stand up from the bench, McGee saw the tense, pensive man who'd been sitting beside him morph into a carefree guy enjoying an afternoon in the fresh air. DiNozzo stretched casually and lobbed his cup into the trash bin across the walkway before turning to McGee with a beaming smile. "He shoots! He scores!"

He continued softly, the smile never leaving his face as he took one more look around the park. "Get a good night's sleep, McGee. Tomorrow's going to be another long day."

...

Twenty-four hours later, Gibbs was seething. "Where the hell is McGee? He should have been here fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't know, Boss." DiNozzo checked his phone again for missed messages, trying to ignore the churning in his gut. "I called him around 1600 to confirm the arrangements, and he said he'd meet us here."

"Well find him! And when you do, tell him if he's not gonna be here in the next five minutes, he'd better be maimed or dead."

...

McGee awoke slowly, his mind disjointed and fuzzy as it catalogued his surroundings. Large, empty space. High ceiling. Walls far enough away to be lost in the gloom. Warehouse? He felt so heavy…. Why was he in a warehouse? He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep again, but something was telling him that would be dangerous.

He looked around with bleary eyes, but the sight of the man on the other side of the room honing a long, curved blade cleared all traces of fog from his mind. He suddenly understood several things with instant, cold clarity.

He knew what connected their victims.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

The team didn't know where he was, so he had no backup.

And if he didn't make it out of this alive, Tony was never going to forgive himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The man was dragging the blade repeatedly across a whetstone, so absorbed in his task that he hadn't yet noticed McGee was awake. Tim snapped his eyes shut and took deep, slow breaths, fighting down nausea. His mind battled the fog leftover from whatever drugs he'd been given. He was furious with himself for being taken, for winding up at the mercy of a madman. All the things he should have noticed, attended to…. He could have prevented this if he'd just been paying attention to what was going on around him. If he hadn't let himself be distracted….

This was doing him no good. There'd be time to beat himself up later. Right now he needed to think. He relaxed his body, evened out his breathing, and slitted his eyes, hoping to maintain the illusion that he was unconscious for a few more minutes while he took stock of his situation.

He was tied to a heavy metal chair in the middle of the large space, a floor drain at his feet. The sight of brownish stains around him, trailing toward the drain and disappearing through the grate, made his stomach lurch. He didn't need Luminal to tell him what the stains were. He gritted his teeth and resolutely moved his thoughts back to the chair.

He realized he was only bound to the chair at four points – at each ankle and just above each elbow – which didn't make sense. It allowed him too much movement, gave him at least a slim chance of using his body and the weight of the chair to counter an attack. Then he remembered the deep gashes and stab wounds the victims had suffered across their forearms, thighs and torso before they were gutted, and his stomach roiled again. He'd been tied this way on purpose to make things easier for the knife-wielding lunatic. Easy access to all body parts, no pesky ropes to work around.

Across the room, the blade slowly rasped across the whetstone, the sound changing pitch, low to high, with each stroke. It was rhythmic, almost musical, as though the blade was singing to him. McGee felt his nerves tighten and his breath start to hitch as cold sweat prickled across his skin.

He gave himself a mental headslap. _Get a grip! You are not going to die here because you succumbed to a panic attack. Yesterday you were telling DiNozzo how good you were. Prove it! _

He forced his breathing to a slow, regular rhythm again and focused. Body movement. Chair. If the killer had tied him this way, it probably meant none of the previous victims had tried to use the chair against him, so McGee might be able to catch him off guard. The other victims hadn't been federal agents, personally trained in close quarters combat by Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He could do this. Hell, DiNozzo had done the same thing, hadn't he? When he and Ziva had gone undercover posing as a husband and wife hit team, Tony had been tied to a chair and had still beaten the crap out of his own knife-wielding lunatic.

Too bad he'd never asked Tony how he'd managed to pull that off.

OK, he had some freedom of movement. What else did he have to work with? His holster was gone, so no gun. A subtle brushing of his calf against the chair leg told him that his knife sheath had been removed as well. He hadn't been searched thoroughly, though, because he could feel the weight of his keys in his jacket pocket. Ziva had shown him how to use a car key as a lethal weapon, but with his arms bound he wouldn't be able to inflict any damage until his target was close enough to have already stabbed him.

He felt a bubble of hysteria rise in him, and he stifled an urge to giggle as he heard DiNozzo's voice in his head, doing his best Sean Connery imitation. _Isn't that just like a Probie, bringing a car key to a knife fight!_

_Focus!_ The keys were no help. But wait…if his keys were still in his pocket, what about his phone? No, his phone was the first thing that should have been taken from him. Well, the third thing, right after his gun and knife. But their killer wasn't a trained federal agent either…what if he hadn't thought about all the things a geek genius could do with a phone?

McGee looked up through slitted eyes and confirmed that the man was turned mostly away from him and was still absorbed with sharpening his knife. McGee slowly inched his hand toward his jacket pocket and slipped his fingers inside. _Yes!_ His phone was still there. In a matter of seconds his mind processed several options, considered possible outcomes, calculated probabilities of success. Everything hinged on how long it would take his team to get to him. He knew they were either at the park already or were heading there. He also knew from their exhaustive search of the area that there were no warehouses anywhere close to the park, so even after they'd traced his signal and knew where he was, it would take them awhile to get to him.

The knife-sharpening had been going on for several minutes now. It wouldn't be long before the razor-sharp blade was ready to be used. He was going to have to stall for time, and that meant engaging his captor in conversation, distracting him with questions and observations. He'd seen Tony do it a hundred times in interrogation, bombard a suspect with words until they broke. It wasn't really his style, but he'd been on the receiving end of it often enough to know how effective it was. He could do this. He _would_ do this. He just needed to channel his inner DiNozzo.

He carefully slid the phone around in his pocket until the microphone was closest to the opening, then he decreased the volume as much as he could. Taking a deep, slow breath, he pressed speed dial, hit the speaker button, then slid his hand back out of his pocket, moving it back to its original position.

The phone was answered almost immediately. As soon as McGee heard Tony's voice floating up to him from his pocket, soft but still audible, he started talking loudly to cover the sound.

"So, Ken. Do you want to tell me why you have me tied to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_"__Well find him! And when you do, tell him if he's not gonna be here in the next five minutes, he'd better be maimed or dead."_

"On it, Boss," DiNozzo said, stepping away to call McGee. Not that moving off a few feet would afford him any privacy. When Gibbs was worried, all his senses focused like lasers. And Gibbs was definitely worried. DiNozzo could make the call from another time zone and Gibbs would still be able to hear everything that was said.

Tony was no longer trying to calm the churning in his gut. Something was wrong. He knew it and Gibbs knew it. There was no way McGee would be this late without having contacted them. If he hadn't, it meant he couldn't, and there was no scenario for "couldn't" that boded well for his probie.

DiNozzo nearly dropped the phone when it began to vibrate in his hand, McGee's name popping up on the screen. He punched the Accept Call button and hissed out, "Probie! Where the hell are you? Gibbs is pissed!"

He heard McGee's voice, muffled as though he was some distance away from the phone. Everything inside DiNozzo froze when he heard the words McGee was saying, realized what they meant.

_"__So, Ken. Do you want to tell me why you have me tied to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse?"_

"Boss!" Tony's voice came out a strangled gasp, but he didn't care. A heartbeat later he was moving, racing toward the sedan, knowing that Gibbs and Ziva would follow.

As he ran, he hit the Mute button on his phone to cut out the sound from his end, then pushed up the volume as high as it would go. They could all hear McGee now as well as another voice, indistinct but getting closer to the phone. By the time DiNozzo threw himself into the passenger seat, Gibbs was on his own phone, barking out instructions.

"Abby, get me a location on McGee's cell, now! No questions, Abbs. Give me a direction to head, details as we go." Gibbs barely waited for Ziva to tumble into the backseat before he hit the gas, doors slamming as he peeled out of the parking lot.

...

Ken started at the sound of McGee's voice, nicking his finger as the blade slipped on the whetstone. Tim held his breath, waiting for a reaction. Whatever the man threw at him, he would counter it, toss it back at him, like a ping-pong match. He'd watched DiNozzo do it a hundred times. He quickly sifted through memories of past interrogations, analyzing and cataloguing Tony's best techniques. He could do this.

Ken stood absolutely still, staring at the blood oozing from the tip of his finger for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height. Carefully setting the stone and knife down on the table in front of him, he turned and walked across the room toward McGee.

"You're not supposed to be awake yet, Tim," he said conversationally, his voice almost pleasant. "I'm not quite ready for you."

_And…cue witty repartee. _"Oh, well, I didn't mean to throw your schedule off. Just take your time. No need to hurry on my account."

Ken looked at him sadly. "I'm going to miss your sense of humor. I always liked you, Tim. I had no idea you were one of them."

_And…play dumb._ "What? Irish? Navy brat? Tall?"

Ken's face tightened. "A homosexual."

And there it was. The same look he'd seen on Ken's face in the park when DiNozzo had implied they were lovers. As soon as he'd woken up to find Ken sharpening that godforsaken knife, he'd remembered the man's reaction to DiNozzo's words, and he'd known what tied the murders together.

He opened his mouth to tell Ken that he and Tony were not romantic partners, but he heard Tony's voice in his head. _The first rule of undercover work, Probie, is you never break cover. _But damn it, he wasn't undercover! He was in this mess because DiNozzo had opened his big mouth…. But would telling the truth now really help him? He needed to establish rapport, keep the man talking, buy time for the team to get to him. If he contradicted the story Tony had told earlier, there was no telling which version Ken would believe, but the man would know for certain that one story was a lie, and there was no way that could work in his favor. It would shatter any possibility of building trust between them. But still, if there was a chance he could talk his way out of this….

Truth or lie? Which would work out better for him? He heard Tony's voice again, from a case they'd worked years ago. _When in doubt, Probie, deflect._

Oh, yeah. He'd survived working with "DiNosey" for years now. He could deflect with the best of them.

"Really?" He feigned surprise. "This is about you not liking gays? But one of the guys you killed was a happily married man."

"That just makes it worse," Ken said sadly. "He should have been at home with his wife instead of kissing a man by the gazebo. I saw him. He tried to tell me it didn't mean he was gay, that he'd never done anything like that before, but you can't trust anything they say to you. They lie, tell you whatever you want to hear to get what they want from you. I had to hurt him for a long time before he finally admitted the truth."

McGee's stomach threatened to revolt as he remembered the autopsy photos from the second corpse. The man had been tortured beyond belief before he was finally killed. For a moment Tim felt light-headed. If he'd changed his "cover" story and Ken had thought he was lying….

He couldn't let himself think about that now. He had to keep the man talking.

"So what do you have against homosexuals?"

Ken's face twisted into a rictus of loathing and fear. "They're evil," he snarled. "They hurt people. Innocent children. They have to be stopped. They used to be vilified, but not anymore. Now we're passing laws so they can have equal rights, get married even. We're electing them to public office, accepting them into the military. These days it's all about protecting _them_, but no one's protecting the children!" Ken's voice rose. "Why are we protecting the monsters instead of the children?"

McGee felt his heart constrict as bits of information slotted into place, forming the beginnings of a picture.

"Were you one of those children, Ken?" he asked softly. "Did someone hurt you?"

The man stiffened, staring at a point in space as intently as he'd stared at his bleeding finger a moment ago. Finally he took a deep breath, as he had before, and seemed to come back to himself. When he spoke, his words were so quiet McGee had to strain to hear. "I was playing, in the park. I'd stayed out later than I was supposed to. It was starting to get dark. But that doesn't mean I deserved it. It _doesn't!_"

"You're right, Ken, it doesn't." McGee kept his voice low, soothing. "Did someone take you from the playground?"

"I wasn't supposed to stay out after dark, so I was running, trying to get home before I got in trouble. He stepped out from the trees, and I ran into him. He picked me up, asked me where I was going in such a hurry, and I told him I had to get home. He said he knew a shortcut, that he'd show me. He…he took me to the tunnel, but when he got me there, he wouldn't let me leave."

_That's how he's been getting the victims out of the park!_ McGee wanted to head-slap himself. The access tunnel had originally been used to let groundskeepers move equipment between the park and the soccer field behind it without having to cross traffic on the road that separated the two. The tunnel hadn't been used since the soccer field had been turned into a parking lot, and it was gated and padlocked at both ends, so they'd disregarded it. But if Ken had replaced the Park Service padlocks with ones of his own, he'd have had free access to the tunnel with no one being the wiser.

"What happened in the tunnel, Ken?"

"He…he did things to me. Things I'm not allowed to tell, because they're bad. My father told me I could never talk about them, because if people knew what he did they'd think I was bad, too. But I'm _not_ bad, Tim. I'm one of the good guys. I'm taking the monsters away so they can't hurt any more children."

"It happened on the third day of the month, didn't it?"

Ken's focus zeroed in on him. "How do you know that?"

"It doesn't matter. Ken, what happened to you was terrible. It should never happen to anyone, especially not a child. But surely you understand that all gay people are not pedophiles, just like all straight people are not rapists."

"You would defend them. You're one of them." The ugly look was back on the man's face.

Truth or lies? _It's all about building a connection, Probie. Finding common ground._

McGee closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. "You think I'm a child molester? I would never do to some poor kid what was done to me!"

The hatred cleared from Ken's face as though it had never been, replaced by confusion. "You were molested?"

"I became an agent to get people like that off the streets. Lock them up so they couldn't hurt anyone ever again. I'm doing the same thing you're trying to do, only I'm doing it within the law."

"But you're one of them." Ken's eyes shifted away, and when he spoke again his words were barely above a whisper. "Is that why you're…the way you are? Did he…turn you?"

McGee felt a flash of insight. Was that what had started Ken's killing spree? Had he found himself attracted to another man and decided that the assault he'd suffered as a child had made him gay? His father hadn't allowed him to talk about it, he'd never gotten any help as a boy…as an adult he must have felt ashamed and then so very angry. Despite the atrocities this man had inflicted on his victims, McGee's natural empathy found him feeling sorry for the little boy who hadn't been allowed to work through the horror he'd experienced, and for the young man who'd been left feeling confused and ashamed to the point that he'd snapped.

"I am what I am, Ken," McGee said quietly. "I'm a good agent who catches murderers and rapists and takes them off the streets. I'm a protective big brother who watches out for my baby sister so she doesn't get herself into too much trouble. I'm someone my friends can count on, someone they can trust to be there for them, no matter what. I'm a good person who tries to make sure that every single day I make the world a little better, a little safer. My sexual orientation doesn't have anything to do with any of that."

Ken looked at him for a long moment. He nodded slowly. "Yes, I've always thought you were a good person. I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you. I won't do the same thing to you I did to the others."

McGee started to relax, but the man's next words froze him in place.

"I'll make sure you don't suffer when I kill you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_"__I'll make sure you don't suffer when I kill you."_

As the killer's words crackled through the speaker on his phone, DiNozzo swallowed hard, trying to force down the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't lose it now. He had to save McGee first, then he could shoot himself. Or Gibbs could do it for him.

"Abby," he barked into Gibbs' phone which was also set on speaker, "pull up everything you can find on a Ken…damn it, he never told me the guy's last name! He lives in McGee's building. He said…he said 'upstairs neighbor' so the guy's apartment would be on the fourth floor. He's mid- to late-twenties, maybe 5'10", 150 pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes. Find any vehicles registered in his name, and find out if he has any connection to a warehouse."

Ziva pressed forward into the space between the front seats. "You know who has him, Tony?"

"He was at the park yesterday. McGee ran into him at the coffee cart, was talking to him when I walked up."

"And why does this man believe that McGee is gay?"

Tony swallowed hard again. "Because I implied that McGee and I were in a relationship."

Gibbs' hand slammed against the steering wheel. "Damn it, DiNozzo!"

"It wasn't like that, Boss!" Tony's voice was frantic. "I swear to God, I wasn't pranking him. Tim slipped, introduced me to the guy as his partner. There were a dozen people within earshot, we couldn't afford to broadcast that there were cops wandering around in the park. I made a comment that gave the impression we were romantic partners to shift the focus so we didn't blow the surveillance gig. The guy got this horrified look on his face and walked off."

"And you didn't think to mention it?" Gibbs roared.

"We didn't know the killer was targeting gays! Jesus, Boss, I never would have said something like that if we'd realized these were hate crimes! I just thought McGee's neighbor was a homophobic jerk. Tim and I talked about it afterward, I explained why I'd said what I said, and I didn't think about it again." Tony dropped his head back against the headrest and groaned. "God, it's all my fault!"

Ziva's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "We will find him, Tony," she said quietly. "And when we do.…"

Her thumb suddenly dug into a pressure point at the juncture of his neck and shoulder causing DiNozzo to hiss and grit his teeth. "When we do, whatever injuries McGee has suffered, I will inflict on you. Personally."

...

Staring at his neighbor's calm expression, McGee seriously considered the possibility that his team might not get to him in time. He wanted to shout into the phone, tell them to hurry, but he knew they were already doing everything they could. He had to do his part to delay Ken's plan, keep him talking…but more than that, if he didn't survive he needed to make sure that Ken wouldn't get away. Somehow he had to get information to his team that would let them track the man down.

He also had to find some way to say good-bye.

Taking a deep breath, he methodically crushed down every anxious thought, every insecurity, every feeling of guilt and horror and grief. He couldn't be without fear like Gibbs or Tony would be in this situation, but he could shove all the panic-inducing, focus-stealing thoughts into a mental black box and lock them away like Schrödinger's cat. Their existence would be suspended, they would be both present and not present, but he wouldn't have to accept their reality as long as he didn't look in the box. He slammed the metaphorical lid down tight, locking all distracting thoughts away.

Feeling steadier, he turned his focus back to his neighbor, scanning through the information he knew, picking out the bits that were important and discarding the inconsequential. He would have to hide the information within conversation directed at Ken in a way that sounded natural, and he didn't know how long he'd have before Ken got tired of listening. He mentally queued up relevant facts and statements he wanted his teammates to hear, and he began building a conversational frame around them.

"I know you'll do what you think you have to do, Ken, but there are a few things I need you to understand. You may kill me, but you won't get away. My team will be coming for me. Even if they're not in time to save me, they won't let it go. Gibbs, our team leader, is a Marine from his haircut down to his boots. He lives and bleeds Semper Fi. He will find you, and he will stop you."

The calm certainty in McGee's words had Ken shaking his head sadly as though he felt sorry for Tim's belief in his delusions. "He's just your boss, Tim. He won't care what happens to you. He'll hire someone else and move on."

McGee's voice was clear, steady. "He is so much more than just a boss. He is the most honorable, steadfast person I've ever known. I was hardly more than a kid when I met him, was still trying to figure out where I fit. He gave me focus, rules to follow, values I could believe in. I've been grateful every single day that he gave me a chance, that he's kept giving me chances, even when I've screwed up. I've tried to live up to his standards, to be worthy of his trust, since the day I met him. The man I've become is because of him."

McGee had to stop to collect himself. He knew Gibbs would be embarrassed by what he'd just said, probably wouldn't appreciate the outpouring of emotion, but he'd needed to say it just the same. He needed Gibbs to know.

Ken said softly, "But you've lied to him all this time."

"What? I have never lied to Gibbs. I couldn't. The man knows everything. If I even thought about lying, he'd know before the words came out of my mouth."

"But you had to have lied to him about…what you are. If he knew, he wouldn't let you stay. He wouldn't want you to be around him."

As McGee's mind filled in more of the picture, he couldn't help feeling a flash of sympathy for the young man in front of him. Tim suspected that no one had ever stood up for him, stood by him. Life had given him too many hits and too few offers of help.

"Gibbs isn't my father, Ken. My father is a cold, judgmental bastard who never wanted a son like me. I've been disappointing that man since the day I was born. I've finally accepted that I will never be good enough in his eyes, not because I'm bad, but because he's a bitter, unhappy man who will always think life and the people around him have failed him. I haven't spoken to him in years – not since I started working on Gibbs' team. Gibbs made me realize I needed to be good enough for myself, not for anyone else. And for the record, Gibbs doesn't care about what I do in my personal life. He expects me to act with honor and integrity, to back up my team, and to live by the rules he's taught me. Nothing else matters to him. And I know that if I ever fail in what he expects of me, he won't just throw me away. The day I became part of his team, he said 'You belong to me now.' That means he will never abandon me, and he will never leave me behind. And that's how I know he will find you, Ken. Even if he can't save me, he won't stop until he's gotten justice for me."

Ken pulled himself up straighter. "He won't be able to find me if he doesn't know who I am. I've been very careful, Tim."

"But not careful enough to get past my team. They're the best at what they do, and they won't fail because this time they'll be doing it for one of their own. Ducky, our medical examiner, is a wonderful, wise man who takes care of all of us. He's like a grandfather to me. He will take special care when he does my autopsy, and he'll find the needle mark on the left side of my neck where you injected me with…whatever it was. What did you give me, anyway?"

"It was a blend of midazolam and GHB. It should have kept you out for much longer."

McGee shrugged. "I have a funny metabolism. Ducky's always having to make allowances. When he does my autopsy, he will make sure he finds every scrap of evidence you've left on me, and he'll get it all to Abby, our forensic scientist. She's a genius who gives great hugs, and she's my best friend in the world. She won't eat, she won't sleep, she'll live on CafPow until she's finished analyzing every microscopic particle of evidence. She'll be able to trace the drugs you used, figure out where they were purchased, and she'll follow the purchases back to you. And she won't stop there. This powder that's all over the floor – what is that, anyway?"

"It's powdered glass."

_Powdered glass?_ "Well, it's all over the bottom of my shoes. It will lead Abby right to this warehouse. Pollen that's been transferred from your clothes to mine when you've brushed up against me will tell her everywhere you've been in the last week, and they'll be able to use that to track your movements. Ducky will try to find traces of your DNA on my body – just a drop of sweat would be enough for Abby to identify you – but even if he doesn't find anything, it won't matter. Tony will figure out who you are."

McGee couldn't help the wistfulness that threaded through his voice as he thought of Tony, and he saw Ken's face harden.

"Tony," he spat out. "Your _partner._ He's the one who was with you in the park."

Tim nodded. "We had an argument about that, after you left. I saw how you reacted to what he said, and I yelled at him for upsetting you. And like the stubborn ass that I can be sometimes, I never apologized to him, and I should have. Because he was right." Tim huffed out a breath. "He almost always is. I can't tell you how irritating that can be for those of us who are around him every day. But that's the thing about Tony. He always does his best to do the right thing. It doesn't matter to him who he pisses off in the process. I know he's faced off against the Director. I've _seen_ him go toe-to-toe with Gibbs, and that's almost suicidal. But if he knows he's right, he doesn't back down. Sometimes he gets overruled – we all have to follow orders – but he never follows blindly. He's got too much integrity. He thinks I never listen to him, but I know he's the reason I'm a field agent. If it wasn't for Tony and all he's taught me, I'd be just another computer geek, stuck in the sub-basement running sniffer programs."

McGee swallowed down the regret that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd been too stunned by Tony's revelations in the park yesterday to speak, and by the time his brain had dropped into gear and started formulating words, Tony had already gone. He'd planned to pull the man aside tonight and apologize, not just for snapping at him yesterday, but for his attitude in general. He fully intended to make that apology to Tony's face when this was all over, but if he never got the chance, he hoped the words he'd just said would be enough.

Tim swore he could hear Gibbs' voice in his head, barking at him. _McGee! Report!_ He gave himself a mental headslap and shoved his regrets into the box with all the other thoughts he couldn't afford right now. He had to stay focused. He had information to give his team, and he was running out of time.

"The thing is, Tony is a brilliant investigator, better even than Gibbs. He sees things no one else notices, he makes connections the rest of us miss. He'll know I never left my apartment building because my car is still there. He'll wonder why I was taken from my apartment when all the other victims were taken from the park. You see, Ken, you haven't been as careful as you thought, because you've given him a starting point, some little piece of information that doesn't quite fit, and that's all Tony ever needs. He'll remember the look on your face when I introduced you. He'll remember that I told him you live in the apartment above mine. He'll keep looking until he finds the place by the dumpster where you ambushed me. He'll notice the tire tracks from the van you'd pulled up onto the grass next to the trash enclosure. That was your van, wasn't it? The black Econoline with Maryland plates? Tony will be able to pick it up off of the security camera on the northeast corner of the building, and he'll be able to trace it. And he won't stop, Ken. Tony takes care of his own, just like Gibbs, and I've been his Probie, his responsibility, since the day I joined the team. He and Gibbs will hound you to the ends of the earth for hurting me."

Ken looked at him, amusement clear on his face. "Is this your version of _Tales of the Arabian Nights_? Do you think if you tell me stories about all of your co-workers that I'll forget to kill you, Tim? Who's next? The night security guard? The janitor?"

McGee shook his head.

"There's just one more. The newest member of my team. Ziva. She reminds me of my little sister, so I've tried to take her under my wing, even though she doesn't need protection from anyone. She's a trained assassin. She says she knows nineteen ways to kill someone with a paper clip, and I don't think she's kidding. Gibbs and Tony are the ones who will find you, but Ziva is the one who will kill you. She'll do it because she feels like she should. She comes from a world where retaliation for the deaths of family and friends is a way of life."

McGee held his captor's gaze, but his words were for the woman he hoped was listening on the other end of the phone. "She's already lost so much. Nearly all her family is dead, and the ones who are left aren't good for her. We're her family now, and I don't want her to lose one more person she cares about. But if I can't prevent that, I don't want her to kill again out of a need for revenge or retribution. She's so much more than a trained killer now, she has so much more to offer. I don't want her to lose another piece of her soul. Not for me."

Ken stared at him for a long moment. He appeared to be weighing McGee's words, testing them for veracity. In the end, he merely shrugged. "I believe you, Tim. Everything you've said. I believe your people will come after me, I even accept that they might kill me. But it doesn't change anything. I can't let you live. If I make an exception for you, where do I draw the line? How do I decide which of your kind it's safe to let loose in the world and which ones have to be destroyed? No, I have to get rid of all of you. I don't have a choice. You understand that, don't you?"

McGee's head dropped and he sighed. "Yeah, Ken, I actually do. I don't think you've had a choice since you were a kid, trying to get home from the playground before it got dark."

Ken nodded, satisfied, and turned away, moving toward the other end of the room, back to the table where he'd left his knife.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to just give in, though. Ziva, Tony, Gibbs, they've taught me how to fight, how to defend myself, and I'll use every single thing they've taught me to try and stop you. I won't make it easy for you."

"I know that, Tim." Ken sounded resigned, almost sad. "But I'll try to make it easy for _you_. I promised."

McGee had done all he could do. He'd given his team all the information he had. He'd said his good-byes as best he could. He wouldn't go down without one hell of a fight, but that was between him and Ken. The last thing he could do for his team, his friends, was to make sure they didn't have to bear witness to it.

While Ken's back was turned, McGee slipped his hand into his pocket and hit the End Call button on his phone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

DiNozzo had McGee's call on speaker. Gibbs had Abby on speaker as well so she could hear McGee and they could all listen to the information she fed back to them.

"I can't pinpoint his exact location from his cell signal!" Abby's voice was nearly frantic on the other end of Gibbs' phone. "It's not a warehouse. It's an old school that was refurbished into a sort of artists' hostel. Some of the old classrooms were subdivided into sleeping rooms, some walls were knocked out to create studio space…it's a maze in there, Gibbs, and it's three stories tall. I can tell you McGee is on the east end of the building, but I can't tell you which exact room, or even which floor he's on. You're going to have to hunt for him."

Gibbs bit back the urge to snap that McGee didn't have time for them to hunt. He knew the scientist was working her magic as only she could. If they didn't get to McGee in time, he didn't want Abby to think it was her fault.

Silence reigned as they all heard McGee say with certainty that they would be coming for him. DiNozzo carefully avoided looking at Gibbs when McGee told his captor how he felt about his boss, but Tony saw the man's hands clench on the steering wheel. Then they heard McGee mention the injection site on the side of his neck, and DiNozzo started grinning like a fool.

"He's giving us clues, Boss!" Tony grabbed the notepad out of his pocket and started making notes. "Way to go, Probie. Keep talking."

He heard a whimper from Abby when McGee described her as his best friend in the world, but the frenzied clacking of her keyboard never slowed. DiNozzo swallowed hard when he heard his own name and realized McGee was apologizing to him. Tied to a chair, facing down a serial killer, and the man was not only apologizing, he was acknowledging the strength of a relationship that Tony hadn't been sure even existed anymore. The words on the page in front of him swam, and he blinked to bring them back into focus, scribbling frantically to catch up with the information McGee was relaying about the van and the security camera on the side of the building.

When Tim spoke of his feelings for Ziva, Tony heard her breath hitch, and he knew if he looked he'd see the same sheen of moisture in her eyes that the rest of them were fighting.

Abby's voice broke into the heavy atmosphere. "Gibbs, I've got it! He said there's powdered glass on the floor. They use powdered glass in ceramic glazes. One of the spaces on the east end of the building was used as a potter's studio. It's on the first floor. There are several small work rooms, but there's only one space large enough that Timmy might have mistaken it for a warehouse. I've got the floorplans up. I can lead you right to him, Gibbs!"

The moment of jubilation was cut short as they all heard the three short beeps indicating that the call had ended. DiNozzo froze in horror as he stared at the phone.

"What happened?" Ziva asked. "Did Ken find McGee's phone?"

DiNozzo looked at Gibbs, their eyes locking for a fraction of a second. He knew the older man had come to the same conclusion he had.

"He thinks he's out of time," Tony whispered, his voice thick. "He doesn't want us to hear—"

He broke off, bracing himself against the dash as Gibbs put the accelerator to the floor.

...

McGee watched as Ken moved back toward the table. The team had to be getting close, he just had to stay alive long enough for them to find him. And that meant not letting Ken gut him like a fish. McGee knew he wouldn't be able to escape the blade, but if he could manage to limit Ken to non-lethal wounds until the team arrived, he might stand a chance.

As the man kept his back to him, arranging the items on the workbench in a precise order, McGee carefully shifted his weight in the chair, trying to figure out exactly how much range of movement he had. With his ankles bound tightly to the chair legs, he couldn't get enough leverage to shift the heavy piece forward and allow him to stand. If he rocked backward he'd only wind up flat on his back, helpless, and he probably would fracture his skull against the concrete floor in the process. That left side-to-side motion as his only option.

If he could throw his weight forward and slightly to one side, he might be able to balance on one foot long enough to pivot and drop the chair back down again. If he kept pivoting on one foot he could swing himself around in a semblance of a circle, moving away from the knife. If he switched between his left and right feet, he might be able to move away from a blow and then swing back into his attacker, catching him off guard and maybe even knocking him down. Neither maneuver would stop Ken's knife in the long run, but the first couple of attempts might startle the man enough to make him back away for a moment, and after that…well, at least Tim would be a moving target. If he kept shifting the chair away from Ken, he might be able to keep contact with the blade limited to just his arms and legs. Both would be painful, but not lethal unless Ken got in a lucky hit and nicked an artery. In any case, his chances would be better than taking a knife to the gut.

Calculating angles and trajectories in his head, it took Tim a moment to register what Ken was doing at the table. He'd apparently finished rearranging things to his satisfaction, then he'd reached out hesitantly and picked up one last item as though he was unsure what to do with it. McGee's blood ran cold when he realized what the man held in his hand.

_Oh God, no!_ He'd realized that Ken had removed his holster, but he'd been so distracted by his predicament that he hadn't thought about what that meant. His team was going to come bursting through the door any minute, expecting to confront a man with a knife. He'd already disconnected the call. He had no way to warn them that their suspect also had a Sig.

His team, coming to save him, could be taken down with his own gun.

"Put it down, Ken. You won't need it. When my team gets here, they won't fire unless you pose an immediate threat to them. Just put the gun down and they'll come in quietly, take you into custody."

Ken didn't respond, just stared at the gun in his hand. For the first time since he'd woken up in this place, McGee struggled against his bonds, twisting and straining against the ropes that held him helpless and impotent. All he got for his trouble was bloody, torn skin and a rising sense of panic.

"If you start shooting, you might accidentally kill someone." McGee groaned at the absurdity of what he'd just said. He tried again. "I know you've killed before, Ken. But those killings had a purpose. You were trying to save people, get rid of the monsters, remember? My friends are trying to do the same thing. They've saved countless lives. You don't want to kill them for no reason."

He heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance, and he felt a dizzying mix of relief and terror.

"They'll be here soon, and they'll have others with them. Lots of people. There's no way you'll be able to escape, so don't make it worse for yourself. Go with them quietly, and you might be able to cut a deal."

He heard the screech of tires, then car doors slamming.

"They're here, Ken," he said softly. "Put the gun down. Step away from the table and put your hands on top of your head so they'll see you aren't a threat."

He heard pounding footsteps coming closer, but still Ken didn't move.

"Put it down," he barked the command. "Now! Put it down and step away from the table."

He registered the absence of sound and movement from the other side of the door, knew he was out of time. "Please, Ken," he pleaded as he pictured Gibbs giving the silent count, counted down with him. Three…two…one….

Ken stared at the gun, transfixed.

He heard the door crash open. Heard Tony's voice shouting "Federal agents!" Saw Ken startle out of his daze and start to turn toward the noise.

He did what he had to do.

"Gun!" He shouted the word at the top of his lungs as he threw his weight sideways, toppling his chair to the right to remove himself from the line of fire.

By the time Ken had turned fully toward the door, the gun still in his hand, he'd been hit by six shots, center mass.

The man was dead before his body hit the ground, McGee was sure of it. But in some odd twist of happenstance, he landed on his back on the cold concrete floor, and his head lolled slowly to the side until his empty, dead eyes were staring straight at McGee. Tim stared back helplessly, unable to break that last contact with his captor. The last few moments played over and over on a repeating loop in his head, and an unearthly cold gripped him as he realized that when Ken had turned toward the door, there hadn't been any intent in the man's expression, just a startled awareness. Ken hadn't been planning to shoot. He'd zoned out again, probably didn't hear the team approach the door, hadn't heard McGee pleading with him to put down the gun.

Tim flinched as he heard the soft _snick_ of a foldable knife being opened, the blade locking into place. Then his view of Ken's body was blocked by denim-clad legs, and DiNozzo's voice was speaking reassuringly above his left ear.

"Don't move, McGee. I'll have you cut loose in just a minute. You OK? You hurt anywhere?"

He started to answer, but as DiNozzo shifted to get a better angle on the ropes, he was suddenly confronted with Ken's lifeless eyes again, and the words died. Then Tony was helping him sit up and Gibbs was hunkered down in front of him, searching his face. Tim tried to focus on his Boss, but his eyes kept drifting back to Ken's body.

"McGee, report!"

Gibbs' barked order made the words come, almost without McGee's volition. "I don't know if he was going to fire. I don't…I don't think he was. But he wouldn't put the gun down, and I couldn't –"

The gentle tap to the back of his head snapped McGee's thoughts back into focus and his eyes to Gibbs' face.

"McGee! You hurt?"

He did a quick internal assessment, then shook his head. "I don't think so. A little groggy from whatever he drugged me with. Shoulder's sore where I hit the ground."

"You're lucky it was your right shoulder," DiNozzo's tone was cheery, but he couldn't hide the underlying strain in his voice.

McGee answered absently, his eyes drawn back to the body on the floor. "That's why I threw myself right instead of left. Was afraid I'd break something falling from that height…mass times acceleration…didn't want it to be my dominant arm."

"That's my Probie!" DiNozzo's chuckle seemed lighter, less strained, and Gibbs visibly relaxed.

"Ambulance is here. We'll get you checked out. And McGee - " Gibbs cupped a hand around Tim's neck and turned his head, forcing his gaze away from the body. When he had the agent's full attention, he crooked the corner of his mouth into a half-smile. "You did good."

...

Thirty minutes later McGee was sitting on the rear bumper of the agency sedan. The EMTs had bandaged the abrasions he'd suffered when he'd struggled against the ropes. They'd declared he'd only sustained bruising to his shoulder and ribs from his tumble with the chair, but they'd tried to make him go to the hospital for blood work to confirm the drugs were out of his system. Ducky had tutted at the pleading look he'd received from McGee, but he'd eventually relented after his own version of a field sobriety test had reassured him that the agent was suffering no undue affects from the chemicals he'd been given. He'd drawn blood for Abby to analyze as evidence to add to the case file, and he'd assured the EMTs that he would personally escort the young lad to the emergency room if he developed any worrisome symptoms.

Gibbs had taken McGee's statement, walking him through everything step by step while DiNozzo and Ziva had processed the scene. McGee had offered to help, but he hadn't argued when Gibbs had pointed out he couldn't work the scene because he was a material witness. McGee had nodded without meeting the older man's eyes. It hadn't slipped his notice that his boss had avoided calling him a victim. He appreciated the restraint, but it didn't do anything to ease the dead weight that was slowly crushing him. So he sat while his team worked, and he ran the last twenty-four hours over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what he could have done differently that would have resulted in a different outcome.

Gibbs followed Ducky and Palmer out the door, caught the slight flinch McGee couldn't hide as they loaded the body bag into the back of the ME's van. He pulled DiNozzo aside and handed him the keys to the sedan.

"Ziva and I'll finish up here and ride back with Ducky. You take McGee out for a beer."

"Beer, Boss? You sure Ducky would approve of that? Maybe I should just take him home, let him get some sleep."

"Take him out." Gibbs' eyes were intense when they locked onto his Senior Field Agent's. "Tell him about Jeffrey White."

Tony paled. "Wh-what?"

"You see that look on his face, DiNozzo? I've seen it before. Once on Kate's face after Suzzanne McNeil blew up that building. Saw it again when I pulled you out of White's car, right after you told me how much you'd liked the guy."

A shiver chased through Tony's body and he took an involuntary step back. "Boss – "

"You heard him on the phone. He connected with that bastard, understood him. And because the guy was holding a gun when we came through the door, we fired instead of taking him into custody. McGee called out the warning. Right now he's eating himself alive, trying to figure out how he could have saved him."

Gibbs reached out and squeezed DiNozzo's shoulder. "Help him through it, Tony."

DiNozzo's mind whirled. Help? How could he help McGee get past this when he'd never been able to help himself? Gibbs didn't know what he was asking.

Gibbs' hand tightened on his shoulder. "_You_ know the guilt will never go away. You know that choice will always haunt him. You _know_, DiNozzo. Help him understand."

Just yesterday Tony'd said he'd do whatever it took to keep McGee safe, even if the man didn't thank him for it. Keeping him safe meant more than just teaching him how to stay one step ahead of the bad guys. It also meant helping him cope when the things they had to do left them wondering if they were so very different from the ones they put away.

DiNozzo straightened his shoulders. Taking a deep breath and huffing it out, he stretched his neck left then right, like he was getting ready to step into the ring.

"On it, Boss."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** This is the final chapter. My thanks to everyone who has read, followed, and favorited this story, and special thanks to all those who've left reviews. I've really appreciated your comments!_

* * *

Chapter 6

DiNozzo watched for a moment as McGee stared fixedly at the body bag that Palmer was securing for transport. The look on McGee's face reminded Tony of a tailback who'd fumbled the ball and watched the other team run it in for a touchdown – not quite sure how he'd lost control of the situation and devastated by the consequences of his mistake.

Tony walked over to the sedan, deliberately positioning himself so that his body blocked McGee's view of the ME's van. His instinct was to paste a cheery smile on his face, fall back on teasing and cajoling, but if he was really going to help his partner, he had to leave his own defenses down.

"Come on, Tim. Boss has cut you loose. Let's get you out of here."

McGee shook his head. "I need to stay." His eyes slid back toward the van where he knew Ken's body was, even though he couldn't see it. "I need to be here."

Tony's mind flashed back to a time he didn't allow himself to think about consciously, one he only remembered now in his nightmares…sitting in a car, covered in Jeffrey White's blood, unable to make himself walk away from the man he'd just killed. He knew if he was going to get Tim to move, he'd have to do it the same way Gibbs had done it to him – coldly and without mercy.

"You sitting here isn't going to make him any less dead, McGee."

Tim launched himself off the bumper, fists clenching at his sides. DiNozzo shifted his weight slightly, but McGee instinctively knew he was bracing for a blow, not preparing to defend himself. When Tim met his partner's gaze, fury in his own, all he saw looking back at him was compassion and a deep sadness. He glared for a long moment, but DiNozzo didn't look away. Finally McGee took a long, slow breath and relaxed his stance.

When DiNozzo saw the fight drain out of his partner, he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's time to go, Tim," he said softly, and when he met no resistance, he gently propelled McGee toward the passenger door of the sedan, opened it for him, and pushed him lightly into the seat.

McGee gazed out the window, not really paying attention to where they were going. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular, but his mind wasn't blank either. Random thoughts, images flashed across his consciousness like the bright spears of light in a laser tag arena, temporarily blinding him, then gone before he could identify their source. They were chaotic, impossible to make sense of, so he let them fire, noting their presence but not engaging with them. Some part of his mind registered that he was in shock, but he couldn't make himself care, and so he quietly watched the play of images without trying to assign meaning to them.

He didn't know how long they'd driven, or even how long they'd been stopped when he registered that Tony was standing next to him, holding his door open, urging him to step out of the car. McGee's focus snapped back to the present, and he realized they were at the diner the team liked to frequent.

In a few moments he was seated in a booth and Tony had ordered burgers and fries for both of them. When the waitress asked what they wanted to drink, Tim asked for a beer. With a charming smile, Tony said, "Maybe later. We'll both start with coffee," and sent the waitress on her way.

Tim roused enough to finally be offended by the off-hand way Tony had taken control. "You're not my mother, DiNozzo," he growled.

"No, and I'm not Gibbs. He'd be plying you with liquor right now. There's not much in Gibbs' world that can't be solved with alcohol or sandpaper."

"And you know better than Gibbs?" McGee challenged.

DiNozzo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What I know is that I stayed drunk for three days after the Jeffrey White case. All it got me was a hell of a hangover and a reprimand in my file for missing work."

McGee was aghast. "Gibbs wrote you up?"

DiNozzo gave him a ghost of a smile. "He couldn't exactly head slap me. I had such a bad hangover my head would have exploded."

"No, but he could have cut you some slack. Jesus, Tony, you almost died!"

"True. And if that had been the reason I was drinking, he probably would have pulled up a bottle and gotten drunk right along with me. But he knew I wasn't drinking from reaction or from fear. I was trying to drown my demons, and if I kept at it I was going to drown before they did."

McGee wasn't exactly comfortable asking Tony to share. It wasn't something they did with each other. But anything was better than thinking about the last few hours, so he pursued the opening Tony had given him. "What demons were you trying to drown?"

DiNozzo toyed idly with his fork. "I'd been a cop for six years and an agent for three before I went undercover for that case. I'd killed a few people in that time, and it was never easy, but they'd all been just generic bad guys. Until Jeffrey, I'd never killed a…friend."

"You—" McGee had to swallow hard before he could continue. He knew where this was going, and everything in him wanted to run, but he knew he couldn't. "You considered him a friend?"

"We were a lot alike. We'd shared a lot of the same experiences, we understood each other. I told him things about myself I'd never told anyone else. He didn't judge me for any of it, he just accepted. Told me it wasn't my fault." Tony took a deep breath, then forced himself to look up and meet McGee's eyes. "He was probably the closest friend I've ever had."

The pain in his partner's eyes was so raw, so unguarded, that Tim had to steel himself to keep from flinching away from it. Instead he leaned forward, wrapping strong fingers around Tony's wrist. "You didn't have a choice, Tony. He had a knife to your throat. He was going to kill you."

"I know. But that's not why I shot him. If it had just been a case of him or me, I'm not sure what I'd have done."

Tim's hand tightened reflexively on Tony's arm. Surely he wasn't saying…

Before Tim could ask, Tony spoke again. "But it wasn't just my life at stake. I knew you guys had no idea where I was. If Jeffrey had killed me, you would have found my body eventually, but by then he would have been long gone. He'd have killed more people, and you wouldn't have been able to stop him. I couldn't let that happen, so I did what I had to do." Tony's gaze bored into Tim's. "Just like you did tonight."

Tim's fingers jerked away from Tony's arm, and he dropped his gaze. "It's not the same thing."

Tony's answer was cut off by the arrival of the waitress with their food. Tony favored her with a wide smile, commented on how good the food looked, assured her they'd let her know if they needed anything else. Tim watched the interaction, amazed and a little irritated that there was not the slightest sign of the intense feelings Tony had just shared with him. As soon as the waitress walked away, Tony turned to his plate, smile gone as though it had never been, tight lines of stress once again visible around his mouth.

"How do you do that?" Tim asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Tony stopped with a fry part way to his mouth. "Do what?"

"Slide in and out of character so effortlessly. All that waitress saw just now was a handsome customer flirting with her. There was no sign of what you were just telling me, or of what happened tonight. How can you lie so effortlessly?"

Tony finished the fry and picked up another. Only years of working with the man let Tim detect the fine tremor in his hand. "It's not lying, Tim. It's connecting, finding common ground. She's not a cop. I hope to God she's never had to kill anyone. No common ground with what you and I were discussing. But she has an interest in bringing me food that meets my expectations. I'm interested in eating the food she brings. That's something we can bond over. So that's what I focus on. For the length of that interaction, everything else is irrelevant, so I ignore it."

"But she's not an undercover assignment. You don't _need_ to connect with her."

Tony picked up his burger and took a bite, chewing slowly. When he met Tim's eyes and nodded to the plate in front of him, the message was clear: _We'll talk when you eat._ With a long-suffering sigh, Tim picked up his own burger and took a bite, trying not to give any outward sign that the well-prepared meat tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

Once McGee had taken a second bite, Tony continued the conversation. "Finding that common ground and building a connection quickly is a skill, just like marksmanship or interrogation techniques. And like any skill, it comes more naturally the more you practice it, so I practice every chance I get. The kind of people who do things that invite undercover operations are generally paranoid, and you're not going to get more than one shot with them. When you go under, you don't have a lifetime to build trust, so you have to bond with them quickly and on a deeper level than anyone around them does. Being able to do that has to be as natural to you as breathing."

Tony slid another fry into his mouth. "And you can't just pretend to be friends with them, you have to really connect. That means when it's all over and you've turned them in, you feel a loss. Someone that you let be important to you is no longer a part of your life, and it leaves a hole behind. And even though you know it was the right thing to do, you feel guilty for making them care about you and then selling them out. A lot like the guilt you're feeling right now about Ken."

"You think that's why I feel guilty?"

"I don't know, Tim. Is it?"

McGee took his time, eating a couple of fries, swallowing more coffee. Part of him hoped that DiNozzo's famously short attention span would cause the man to interject, ask a different question, but Tony waited him out, focusing on his food and not seeming to mind the silence.

McGee sighed. "It's just…he wasn't a bad guy. I mean, he was, obviously – he'd killed five men. But he didn't just wake up one morning and decide to become a brutal, sadistic serial killer. He didn't ask for what happened to him as a kid. It broke him, and his father compounded the trauma by making him feel damaged and unclean. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone what had happened, so there was no one to take his side, stand up for him. He never stood a chance of recovering from that. That didn't give him the right to start killing people, but did he deserve to die for it?"

Tony nodded. "You saw in him the same thing I saw in Jeffrey. The similarities, the common ground. And you connected with that. It's how you drew him in, got him to open up to you."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "Tony, about what I said to Ken—"

Tony cut him off. "Tim, I've never given you much reason to trust me with your personal life. If you want to share information about your past with me someday, I'd be honored to listen, but it needs to be because I've earned the right, not because circumstances forced you into it. Besides, it doesn't matter if what you told Ken was true or if you were spinning a story to establish rapport with him and buy us time to get to you. The fact is, you opened yourself up to the guy, left yourself vulnerable. That's what undercover work is all about, Tim, and it's also why not everyone can do it."

Tony pushed his plate away and signaled at their waitress. When she came over, he gifted her with another brilliant smile. "That was delicious, thanks. I guess we'll take those beers now."

When the waitress set two cold bottles down in front of them and left with their empty plates, Tony reached across the table and clinked the neck of his bottle against Tim's.

"To the successful conclusion of your first stint undercover. Even if it was accidental." The small smile dropped from Tony's face, and he stared at the bottle in his hand, unable to meet McGee's eyes. "I'm sorry I got you into this, Tim. If I'd had any idea the killer was targeting gays, I never—"

"Tony, stop. You think I don't know that? Yeah, your teasing borders on bullying sometimes, but you would never willingly put me in danger. Sometimes I want to slap the smugness right out of you, but I have always, _always_ trusted you. Don't start doubting that. Don't start doubting _me._ OK?"

Tony jerked a nod. "Yeah, OK. I—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"We're good, Tony. I swear. And for the record, I don't know that I'd call what happened tonight a successful conclusion."

"Hey, you got the bad guy, and you didn't get dead. That's as successful as you can hope for when you're undercover. Doesn't mean it feels good."

Tim nodded. "I guess I was kind of freaked out at the scene. D'you think Gibbs'll let me come back to work right away, or is he going to bench me for awhile?"

"It's not up to Gibbs. You were taken hostage, Tim. There's a whole protocol for that – trust me, I know. When you get in tomorrow, you'll have a de-brief with the NCIS psychologist. Take my advice. Don't tell them anything. If you give them even a hint that you're feeling any stress about what happened, it will show up on your annual psych eval for as long as you're with the agency, and you'll never get away from it. Just say you're fine, you're sleeping well, and you're pleased that the case is wrapped. Then talk to a counselor who's not associated with NCIS."

McGee's eyes widened. "Wow, Tony, I thought you'd be the last person who'd push counseling."

"We see things and experience things in this job, McGee, that no human being should have to deal with. Sure, we toughen up over time, and we learn to handle stuff that would send most people screaming from the room, but no one can handle everything." DiNozzo gave him a hard stare. "I've seen too many cops who tried to be all macho, claimed they didn't need help dealing with the job, and wound up eating their guns. Or they developed such a death wish that they put their partners and innocent civilians in danger. Don't be one of the stupid ones, Tim. Talk to somebody."

Tim nodded. "OK. Thanks, Tony."

"Now finish your beer. We'll stop by your place and grab some clothes and you'll stay with me for a few days."

Tim gave him a puzzled frown. "Why? I'm not in any danger. We know Ken was acting alone so there's no one else out there looking for me."

"It's not about you being in danger. You're going to come stay with me because when the nightmares start, it's better if you're not alone."

Tim wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. "What makes you think I'll have nightmares?"

"We all have nightmares, Tim. And we all find our own way of dealing with them. Kate used to go to church, light a candle for the victims, say her rosary until she felt calm enough to try and sleep again. Ziva cleans her gun, over and over again, like it's a meditation exercise. Gibbs…well, Gibbs just doesn't let himself sleep when things are bad. He stays up all night working on his boat and doubles his coffee intake to compensate."

"And what do you do?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably, a flush rising to his cheeks. "Sometimes my apartment gets flooded or develops a gas leak and I go stay with Gibbs for a few days." He shrugged. "You'll find your own coping strategy, but for now, it will be easier to not be alone when you wake up, so you're with me, Probie."

McGee felt something settle in him at the nickname. He'd always hated it, thought it meant he didn't measure up in the other agent's eyes. But after what he'd been through in the last few hours, it sounded different to his ears. Yes, he had a lot still to learn, but he didn't have to figure everything out by himself. He had someone who was more than willing to teach him. Maybe if he asked for help once in awhile, let his partner see that he appreciated the expertise being offered, DiNozzo wouldn't keep trying to shove the damn lessons down his throat. He raised his bottle in salute.

"On your six, Tony."

Tony's face lit with a startled grin, and a gentle warmth began to seep into McGee's soul, driving back the pervasive cold that had enveloped him as he'd stared at Ken's body lying on the floor, lifeless eyes locked with his. It would be a long, long time before that image left him, before he could stop second-guessing his actions of the last few hours, but he didn't have to get through it alone. He knew that Tony would be there for him, as he had been so many times in the past. As Tim vowed he would be there for Tony in the future.

Tim swallowed the last of his beer and slid out of his seat. "Chop, chop, DiNozzo. I'm tired and we still have to debrief before I can go to bed. I've spent the last few hours trying to figure out what you would do in that situation. I want to run it through with you, see how much of it I got right, where I could have tried something different. And top of the list is the question that's been bugging me since I first opened my eyes in that place. How exactly did you manage to beat the hell out of the guy with the knife while you were tied to a chair in that hotel room?"

"There'll be time for that tomorrow, Tim—"

"No, I want to do it tonight, while it's fresh in my mind. You said it yourself, Tony. I've got a lot to learn, and it's your job to teach me. So let's get crackalackin', ObiWan. We have a lot of ground to cover. After all, I'm a newly-minted undercover Jedi, right?"

"Well, maybe not quite a _Jedi_," Tony grinned at the younger man's excitement, "but you'll get there, my young padawan." As Tim turned and headed for the door, Tony's smile fell away. He remembered that eagerness to take on the challenge of undercover work, remembered also what it had cost him. He took one last swallow of his beer and tossed a handful of bills on the table.

"May God have mercy on your soul."


End file.
